That is Enough
by Anrheithwyr
Summary: She has always felt unwelcome her entire life, like she's been invited, but left to stand apart from everyone else. But, she is a Black, and Blacks keep their hearts locked away at all times.


_**Written for the 'HP Potions Competition' by Black Boxed, using the category **__**Deflating Draught**__** – Write about depression.**_

_**Also written for the 'If You Dare Challenge' by Slytherin Cat, using prompt # 5, that is enough. **_

….

She has stood at the edge for years now, feeling invited but not quite welcome, like they've brought her along to gawk and point at. She feels like a museum exhibit that fascinates people for a few minutes before they find something else to draw their attention, and they leave her alone. Broken, because all she is, all she ever has been, is a china doll, and her last owner broke her; unloved, she remains as a ghost who wanders and searches, but never finds the shore. She has walked the path and walked it for so long, yet there is no end in sight, and she is _so _very tired. All she wants is a place to rest her head, a place to sleep, a place to recover. There is nowhere for her to go, and she stands at the edge, wondering if anyone will notice her presence. She has knocked on the door, and no one has yet to answer. She will stand on the threshold, waiting, but each second only brings her to the moment when she will have to give up and finally walk away; yet, that is not the sort of person she is. She does not believe in walking away from her problems, no matter how long they take to work out. That is why she ran away from home as a girl-because, if you must leave, you must leave fast.

She holds no pity for herself, no feeling of remorse; those are emotions for weaker women, women too afraid to admit they've made mistakes. Women too afraid to admit they will make mistakes in the future, and are making mistakes at every moment in her life. No, she holds no sorrow for herself, and asks no questions such as 'what if', because she does not care to know about what ifs. She does no care to think about possibilities and paths and choices she could have, _should have_, made, because she has picked her life, and she is happy the way she is. _That is enough_, she tells the world, who has been crying tears for a woman who wants none. What she wants is her husband back, her daughter back, her sisters back. What she wants is her life the way it had once been, but she knows such a thing is impractical and unreasonable, so she makes due with a baby that is not hers. She loves him with all her heart, but his face reminds her of the past, of everyone who has left her behind with a baby that is not hers.

Her hair is greying, now, after only being on this earth for forty-five years, but, as they say, stress ages you, and she _has _been stressed more than she'd like to admit. Her hair is no longer the dark brown it had been; she had lines on her face that had not been there twenty years ago. She's aged, and she's weakened, and even now, she just doesn't feel _accepted_. She didn't fight, she sat cradling a baby, whispering nursery rhymes in his ears, and begging a deity she had no faith in to _please save my daughter_. But, then again, things haven't gone her way in years, have they? So she has buried her daughter at forty-five, adopted her grandson at forty-five, and she has _given up _at forty-five. What's the point, if everyone she loves is dead, and she's got a grandson that scares her, because he has _her _ability, but naturally looks like _him? _She holds him and she does her best to love him, but it's hard, and she's already failed with her daughter. _A Black does not show love, no matter what_.

She feels like an outsider, but she doesn't want that to bother her as much as it does. She feels disconnected from the world, but she doesn't want to pity herself for something she can't do much about. People say ridiculous things about them being in a better place, or being happier, but all she can think is _husband dead, daughter dead, son-in-law dead_, and a little baby that's struggling to take care of because it just hurts too much, and some days she doesn't want to get out of bed to deal with any of it. _You're depressed. _What? She's not allowed to be sad over the loss of her entire family, except for a baby and a distant, silent sister? All she wants is to mourn, but the _other _part of her is struggling to keep her emotion in check, when all she wants to do is break down and cry. She's falling apart, and she refuses to tell anyone, because they're all dealing with their own problems, so who really cares about some aging woman who has always been cold before. She's breaking, but she is not the type to ask someone to repair her. That is enough, she tells herself roughly, that is _enough. _She needs help, she needs someone to help her.

Her name is Andromeda Black-and all she wants is someone to notice her pain.


End file.
